


Cause for Celebration

by arcadian_dream



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-18
Updated: 2011-04-18
Packaged: 2017-10-18 07:33:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/186478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcadian_dream/pseuds/arcadian_dream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur thinks: They are nothing to the blue of Merlin's earnest gaze or the blush in his cheeks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cause for Celebration

Arthur stands at his open window and takes a deep breath: the morning breeze carries the vibrant aroma of summer in the air. It washes over Arthur, curling around his limbs; cradling him in the palm of its imperceptible hand. Blooming flowers fan out on his tongue (he swears he can taste them), the earthy scent of ripening crops possesses his olfactory sense, and the people –

Well, the people come alive at Beltane.

Camelot comes alive.

It is, and always has been, Arthur's favourite time of the year for that very reason: it is the time when the world seems to shimmer anew; and the spark of life is intoxicating.

But this year –

This year, the blazing blue skies that stretch over Camelot and the glittering rays of the sun that fall in wavering, golden bands across the cold, grey stone of castle walls and the contented smiles of the townspeople are not what they once were to Arthur.

 _They are nothing_ , Arthur thinks: _They are nothing to the blue of Merlin's earnest gaze or the blush in his cheeks_.

This year, the beauty of Beltane, the bounty of Camelot, are nothing to the whisper of Merlin's breath, hot and sweet, against Arthur's skin as he gasps his master's name.

With a sigh, Arthur turns from the window. He stares at his now-empty and still-unmade bed. Merlin had to leave earlier; to return to his own chambers so as not to arouse Gaius' – or anyone else's - suspicions, before Arthur woke; and when Arthur did he felt ... what? He wasn't sure, but he knows it has been happening each and every morning after they are together.

Mournful, he approaches the bed, lowering himself into a seated position at its edge. He leans back and, placing the palm of his hand flat against the crumpled covers, he runs it over the mountainous ridges; the temporary bunches of fabric that will, when the bed is made, be shaken out, and lost to the world.

 _There_ and _there_ and _there_ , Arthur thinks. His gaze wanders: there, where Merlin clutched at fistfuls of fabric as they rutted against one another; there, where Merlin cried out as he was entered; and there, where he came, spilling thin, ropy strands of semen over Arthur's grasping fingers and onto the covers.

And it is there, where Merlin's come lies caked onto the fabric, that Arthur's fingertips pause. He runs the fleshy mount of his thumb over the dried fluid, before bringing it to his mouth. Closing his eyes, he pushes his thumb past his lips, flicking his tongue over it, savouring the taste of Merlin; and the memories of last night.

Swirling his tongue around his own thumb, a diminutive moan escapes Arthur's full, pink lips; flashes of Merlin – of his eyes, vibrant, and his cheeks, painted with a debauched, rosy hue – fill his consciousness, shutting out the cacophony of Camelot's Beltane celebrations, and his own commitments as prince.

All Arthur can see, can think, can _feel_ at that moment, is Merlin, and reaching down to loosen his trousers, he smiles; for Arthur, there is no greater cause for celebration than that.


End file.
